


You Again

by anotherfangirlshipper



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Scene, Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, Gen, The Empty Hearse Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:17:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherfangirlshipper/pseuds/anotherfangirlshipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or the time Sherlock really, truly returned but John thought it was yet another figment of his imagination. Alternate restaurant scene from The Empty Hearse where Sherlock is still the waiter, but John just thinks he's seeing things again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Again

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Unfortunately I don't own Sherlock, and a bit of the dialogue in this is from The Empty Hearse itself.
> 
> Also, Mary doesn't know what Sherlock looks like for this to make sense.

John saw him everywhere. He saw Sherlock in 221B when he went back to see Mrs. Hudson, and he saw him every time he passed the restaurant that they always used to get Chinese takeaway from. He saw him in the box of his old things Lestrade brought to him. Just last week he had been at the hospital, and had turned around to find him, all coat collar and cheekbones, staring at John from the corner of the room. John has dropped his mug of tea in shock, and when he had stood back up from collecting the pieces of it, Sherlock –the phantom of Sherlock– was gone. Some days, when John was walking down the street, he could have sworn that the he saw the bottom of a long coat whipping around a corner, or a tall, slim person walking on the street parallel to him. But he knew it wasn't possible. He had seen it with his own eyes; the death of Sherlock Holmes, his best friend.

"Can I help you with anything sir?" John was pulled out of his thoughts as the waiter approached him.

"Hi, yea," said John, looking down at the drink selection, "I'm looking for a bottle of champagne. A good one." His eyes scanned over the list, trying to decide which one Mary would appreciate the most.

"Well, these are all excellent vintages," the waiter stated.

"Er, it's not really my area, what do you suggest?" John asked. As he spoke, it seemed like time slowed down as he was swept into his memories once again.

"You don't have a girlfriend then?" he'd asked him, sitting in Angelo's restaurant, waiting to see if the murderer would appear.

"Girlfriend, no, not really my area." Sherlock had replied, as he looked out the window.

Sherlock. It seemed like every little thing reminded John of Sherlock nowadays, and it still hurt just as much thinking about him today as it did the day he watched him fall. Jump? No, fall seemed a much better word, John is still in denial that Sherlock would have gone and jumped. He was much too smart to do something so insanely stupid.

The waiter was replying, and John realized that he had asked a question.

"Well, you cannot possibly go wrong, but, erm, if you'd like my personal recommendation, this last one on the list is a favorite of mine."

John sighed, letting out a deep breath and trying to think only of Mary for the night. The waiter continued to speak.

"It is – you might, in fact, say – like a face from ze past."

Of course, thought John, a face from the past. How fitting.

"Great. I'll have that one, please." he said.

"It is familiar, but, er, with the quality of surprise!" the waiter continued, describing his selection.

"Well, surprise me." John handed his menu to the waiter, still lost in his thoughts of Sherlock.

"Certainly endeavoring to, sir." the waiter said as he walked away.

John reached inside his pocket, pulling out the jewelry box within, and opening it to reveal the ring. The ring he was going to be placing on Mary's finger within ten minutes if the night went according to plan.

He looked up, and saw Mary approaching the table. This is it, thought John. Here we go.

"Sorry that took so long…you okay?" asked Mary as she settled into her seat.

"Yeah, yeah. Me?" replied John. "Fine. I am fine." He laughed nervously, knowing what was to come.

"Now then, what did you want to ask me?" Mary questioned.

"More wine?" It was the first thing that popped into John's head, really.

"No, I'm good with water, thanks." Mary said.

"Right." John sat there, unable to put his thoughts into words, despite his earlier planning.

"So," said Mary, prompting him after a bit of silence.

"So ... Mary. Listen, erm ... I know it hasn't been long ... I mean, I know we haven't known each other for a long time..." John trailed off.

"Go on," Mary encouraged.

"Yes, I will." John continued. "As you know, these last couple of years haven't been easy for me; and meeting you…" he stopped, looking at her, then nodded. "Yeah, meeting you has been the best thing that could have possibly happened."

"I agree." Mary interjected, smiling.

"What?" John was thrown off track for a second.

"I agree I'm the best thing that could have happened to you." She said.

John laughed.

"Sorry," Mary said, turning away apologetically.

"Well, no. That's…so...if you'll have me, Mary," John paused. "Could you see your way, um..." Mary giggled, and John cleared his throat before continuing.

"If you could see your way to…" He was cut off as the waiter approached.

"Sir, I think you'll find this vintage exceptionally to your liking." He said, practically shoving a bottle in John's face. "It has all the qualities of the old, with some of the color of the new." Mary hid behind her hand, silently laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

"No, sorry, not now, please." John told the waiter impatiently.

"Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers suddenly one is aware of staring into ze face of an old friend."

"No, look, seriously," John said, finally glancing up. "Could you just…" He trailed off in shock. "You again" he whispered, before shaking his head and opening and closing his eyes a few times.

"Right, thanks," he said taking the bottle from the waiter. Of course it wasn't him; John was just seeing him again, in some poor waiter who happened to be around the same height and build as Sherlock.

John sighed, wondering if he would ever be able to go a day without seeing Sherlock in at least one person on the streets. He turned back to Mary, who was still looking at the waiter. Oh right.

John turned to him, "that will be all for now, thanks, again" he said waving him off, wishing he could see past the mirage of Sherlock and view the waiter for who he actually was. He didn't seem to be able to do it, but then again, when could he ever just get rid of Sherlock simply by wishing? And yet the waiter stayed, hovering by his elbow, not moving, looking at him quizzically.

"John," he spoke, leaning in towards his ear to talk, "it's me."

"Yea," said John, turning to glare at him, "sure, that's what they all say. Every one of them."

Mary looked at him, concerned, "John, are you seeing Sherlock again? You told me that it had stopped. How many times have you seen him since last month?"

John closed his eyes to think. "I don't know, only like ten or fifteen times, not nearly as many as right after, you know, it."

"Ten or fifteen!" Mary exclaimed. "John, it's only been a few weeks from last month!"

"I know," said John, wishing the waiter would just go away. "But I'm better than I've been, Mary. Now if you wouldn't mind, could you please walk away?" He directed the last part of his sentence towards the waiter, who was still staring down at John, his eyebrows furrowed.

"John?" he asked quizzically "are you alright?" John took a deep breath.

"I'd be much, much better if you didn't happen to resemble my dead best friend so tremendously, thanks. But not much you can do about that, eh?" he said.

"John, I have absolutely no idea what may have led to this delusion of yours that I am not here, or myself, or whatever it is you seem to think, however, I can assure you that I am most definitely not dead." The waiter–Sherlock it would seem– said.

John looked up.

"You're not real." He stated blankly. "Sherlock Holmes died. I saw it with my own eyes."

"A simple trick," said Sherlock, "well, not exactly simple, but is anything ever? Here, proof that I am most definitely real." Sherlock placed his arm on John's shoulder, which tensed up even more than before. John closed his eyes and took a breath.

"Mary," said John, "describe…" he trailed off, but Mary knew what he needed.

"He's tall and lanky, with black curly hair and blue eyes." She told John. He inhaled sharply.

"So you see him too," he exhaled, staring at Mary in amazement. She nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on John.

"It really is you?" he asked, turning to look at Sherlock.

"That does seem to be the general conclusion that we've reached, yes." said Sherlock. John stood up slowly, and turned to face Sherlock. Sherlock smirked.

"Surprise?" he said, but it came out more of a question. John looked up at him, jaw set. Sherlock smiled.

And John lunged.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N So this was my first Sherlock fic, and I hope I did the show justice. I got this idea after re-watching TEH like a 10 times, and I also posted this on fanfiction.net, so no worries, same author here(;


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